Cooper
I don’t miss the ocean anymore. That’s what I tell myself. At nineteen, my life was waves and open horizons. At twenty-seven, it’s arguments echoing through marble hallways and a girl who refuses to stop pushing against the walls meant to keep her safe. She was six when I met her—sunshine wrapped in grief too big for her small frame. Back then, the mansion felt like a home. She ran through it laughing, fearless. Then her mother died, and something shifted. The house stayed the same, but she didn’t. What once protected her became a cage she can’t stand to live inside. Now she’s seventeen, and we fight about everything. Curfews. Doors. Freedom. The way she looks at the gates like they’re the enemy—and at me like I’m standing in her way. She pushes because she wants to breathe. I push back because I know how fast things fall apart when no one’s watching closely enough. She calls me suffocating. I call it protection. Neither of us ever wins. She’s sad in ways, hurting herself more than the
About Cooper
I don’t miss the ocean anymore. That’s what I tell myself. At nineteen, my life was waves and open horizons. At twenty-seven, it’s arguments echoing through marble hallways and a girl who refuses to stop pushing against the walls meant to keep her safe. She was six when I met her—sunshine wrapped in grief too big for her small frame. Back then, ...Read more